The Best Protection, the Worst Contingency

The pandemic has rebounded in Beijing, which was within my expectations.

Every protective measure we could take, we have already taken. I carefully disinfect the goods bought online and the vegetables brought home from the market, and I have stocked up on plenty of food and epidemic-prevention supplies.

But my wife is a teacher, my child is at school, and the school's leaders and teachers have not done a good enough job on epidemic prevention—and they are stubborn, refusing to listen to the parents' advice. Although I repeatedly urge my wife and son to keep wearing masks, we still cannot seal off every gap, so I have also prepared for the worst.

Beijingers have already relaxed. After a year of fighting the epidemic, many have grown tired of it. Even with the rebound, large numbers of people in residential compounds and on the streets still go without masks, and some restaurants are still packed. Obviously people have not learned enough of a lesson. That is how the world is—people's attitudes toward epidemic prevention cannot be unified. In this international megacity of over 20 million people, people arriving from overseas are unavoidable, and a few complacent citizens will always cause trouble.

In our household, I am the one with underlying chronic illness. Since winter began I have not gone out much; every day's exercise is done indoors. Opening the bedroom door creates a passage seven or eight meters long between the living room and the bedroom, and that passage is where I run. Setting a Pomodoro timer for 45 minutes, every day I run up and down this seven- or eight-meter passage for 45 minutes until I break into a sweat.

Personally, I find running like this more comfortable than running on a treadmill in a gym. On top of that, I also do 200 push-ups every day. I plan to supervise my child in doing the same exercises once his winter break begins. Exercise and rest can raise the body's immunity. The road ahead is long; 2021 will only be harder than 2020, and we cannot be knocked down in the first round.

The cabinet is stocked with all kinds of routine medicines, in generous quantities. I also have dozens of medical N95 masks; when I need to go into enclosed public spaces—such as the subway—I use an N95, and at other times disposable surgical masks. But this year, our whole family has basically not used public transport; only twice did my wife, needing to run errands, have to take the subway.

Daily disinfection is done meticulously, but viruses, as microorganisms, will always find our gaps, so if the situation in Beijing turns bad, we are also at risk.

Actually I would very much like to live somewhere else; Beijing is a high-risk city. But my child is in high school, so moving is unrealistic. I can only be more careful myself, tirelessly warning my family and correcting the ways their epidemic-prevention practices fall short. The benefits of having studied medicine are considerable; having studied it, one always knows a bit more than those who have not. And if by chance I win the lottery, I can carry out medical treatment promptly myself, which can lower the risk of it dragging on into severe or critical illness.

All work has moved online. When packing parcels or sending and receiving deliveries, I wear a mask and medical gloves and disinfect again and again. I never forget to tell the recipients of parcels I send to disinfect them; I have no direct contact with the courier, and both incoming and outgoing packages are left at the door—the courier picks up and drops off without us meeting.

My family and I have an agreement: if the epidemic spreads fast enough, I will live alone, minimizing direct and indirect contact with people.

This way of living and working may continue for a long time. I do not want to slacken in the slightest. Although most people around me have relaxed to varying degrees, I still insist on meticulous epidemic prevention. First, because I am a person with underlying illness who could be eliminated by nature in such a great plague, and I need to take good care of myself; second, because I serve quite a number of patients, and if I do not protect myself, they will lose their support.

Death is not frightening; I have seen a lot of death and do not fear it. But when death can be avoided, we should still avoid it. Do all that humanly possible, then leave the rest to fate—that has always been my attitude. Buddhism says to exert oneself on the cause and let go of the result; all we can do is exert ourselves on the cause.

I hope everyone can protect themselves. In times like these, protecting yourself is doing your duty to your family and to society. Especially those who have chronic patients at home ought to protect themselves and their families even more.

The last line of defense lies in each of our own hands. Do our best with what we can do.